


Off Season

by Luddite_heart



Category: A-Team (2010)
Genre: A wee bit of Dom/sub play, Angst, Brief mention of homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memories of torture, Momma Baracus knows all!, Rangers at Play, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-08
Updated: 2012-10-15
Packaged: 2017-11-15 22:01:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luddite_heart/pseuds/Luddite_heart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Team takes a brief vacation... at the beach.... in November.  They keep each other warm.  Body and soul.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, yes, trigger warnings. B.A. and Murdock have a miss-communication (I know, surprise!), and B.A.'s, er, enthusiasm, triggers a flash-back. Talk of rape and torture. Ugly stuff.

The house was, as usual, huge. It had almost become a cliche within the team, the vastness of the houses Face regularly scammed for them now. Each seemed bigger than the last, but this beach mammoth reached into the realm of the ridiculous. Murdock had made the mistake when he saw it of teasing his friend about his obsession with the concept of Size. Face just smiled sweetly and assured the pilot that next time he would acquire a smaller place and Murdock could room with B.A. B.A., who snored and had no tolerance for early morning serenades. "No need to threaten, old chum," Murdock sniffed haughtily. 

And, they really needed the space after the close quarters at their last job. Hell, they deserved it! Another job well done, bad guys put away, clients satisfied, and a decent fee in the bank. Clients satisfied, sure, but close quarters and small children always under foot made it impossible for any kind of "shenanigans", as Murdock put it. (They had gotten a bit burned a month or so back; affection shown too clearly and physically between them in the face of a frowning, intolerant client. Asked to leave, before the job was finished; results sacrificed to the idea of Propriety…) So, a full week of looking at luscious teammates but unable to touch… well, it was time to relax now. Time to celebrate and have a little fun. A few clicks on a library computer, a few smooth words and a big smile at the rental office, and the keys to this monster-rental were theirs. He didn't even have to *try* for the scam; Duck, North Carolina in November, and the vacationers weren't exactly breaking down the door. It was only for a few days, but the A-Team always made the best use of short time. Eight bedrooms ("Billy gets his own room!"), six and a half baths, beach front, lap pool, hot tub, foosball table (and Face made a mental note to leave advance-apology money at the rental office for the destruction of that game; really, B.A. was so competitive); all the space and privacy they could want was theirs for three days. 

Grinning to himself for a job well done (and resisting the urge to strip and walk around naked just because he could), Face dumped Hannibal's bag in the bedroom on the main floor. He surveyed the room with satisfaction; King size bed (will see lots of use), tacky beach decor (ignore! ignore!), and vista encompassing windows. The entire team had inspected the house, from outdoor shower below to trapdoor attic above, the instant they pulled into the driveway; Hannibal looking for escape routes and potential supplies; B.A. looking for bugs (and bugs), and Face scoping out the most comfortable bed and softest towels. Murdock had halted in the "gourmet" kitchen and refused to be budged. 

Face now drifted toward the wide view of the cold, grey Atlantic and the no-color sand. The beach was empty of life, and no wonder; the day was icy and bleak. Dull sky, and dull water. Well, it would at least make a dramatic backdrop for a run. Or, a defiant quickie; and, lo! there's a handsome colonel lounging on the deck rail below, staring at the surf and just begging to be pounced upon. Hmmm… it looks like it's time to start marking this new territory of theirs. Face marched out of the bedroom into the vaulted living room (with fireplace, thank you!), determined to grab Hannibal before B.A. discovered the perfect opportunity taking place on the deck right now. The big guy was surprisingly sneaky when came to finding "alone time" with the Boss. 

He reached the corner at the top of the stairs…. and skidded to a stop next to the kitchen. That vast and gleaming space had been show case ready during their initial recon. Now, it looked like it had been the victim of a small, OCD tornado. Every drawer and cabinet gaped open and the contents were strewn across the counters and floor. Murdock sat contentedly in the middle of the chaos, cross legged on the bar with his nose in a book. Resting after his efforts; another job well done. Because, yeah, Face could see a pattern in the mess. Cups and glasses were stacked on top of one another to form pyramids; spoons, knives and forks were laid out in complex arrangements (plaid?) on the floor; a crop circle of small plates and bowls lurked under the dining table, and bouquets of spatulas and other cooking utensils bloomed from the water pitchers. All of this done in the space of about fifteen minutes. Impressive. Well, Face wasn't cleaning it up.

"Wow," he said respectfully, making sure he had Murdock's attention before stepping too close. "Having fun, buddy?" 

The other man looked up from his book (Dante? Seriously?!?) dazed and wondering. "Hmmm?" He stared at Face and then at the kitchen, as though just now noticing the disarray. "Oh!" He shook himself free of the Third Circle of Hell, to fix Face with a strangely accusing glare. "Did you know these people have three blenders? Three! But, they don't have a garlic press!" 

Face shrugged, and made his voice purposely casual. "Well, it's not too shocking. Nobody really lives here. It's just a rental. You know, for people more interested in Pina Coladas than pesto. Party people!" He waved his hands in a party-ish manner, encompassing the lively possibilities of the large room.

Murdock tilted his head at this, considering, before answering, with no hint of a smile, "Are we going to have a party? 'Cause I don't think the Big Guy will really take to that idea." 

Face shook his head no; he didn't think this was a good time to remind his friend that the island was just about a ghost town right now. Both houses on either side of theirs were empty, as were most of the rentals on the street. No one to invite for a house warming. But, that wasn't really the point. 

The point was they were all stressed and tired from being on their best behavior this past week. B.A. hadn't shouted at anyone; not the team, not even the villain of the week. Hannibal had restricted himself to one cigar a day, Face didn't dare flirt with the client's beautiful daughter, and Murdock had given his best imitation of full sanity. Quiet and sedate. Face had expected all that nervous energy to explode on them full force, once they waved good-bye to the client's vast family, but Murdock had been withdraw on the drive here. Too tired from holding himself in check, and now Face really looked at his friend (and lover) and didn't like what he saw. Pale skin and smudges under his big eyes. Murdock wasn't made to be cooped up too long inside. Well, there was a great big beach out there, just for them. Seducing Hannibal could wait.

"I know we just ate dinner before we got here, but I thought I could make something nice for tomorrow, after I go to the store 'cause there's nothing in the fridge, and a garlic press would make things easier because you know I like to make that Asian cole slaw and I thought y'all would like that for lunch, but I still gotta think about breakfast, unless you want to make some pancakes, in which case we still gotta go to the store, but maybe B.A. will make that omelet his momma taught him, it's so good and then-" 

"Murdock!" Face took a deep breath on the pilot's behalf; the endless sentence seemed to have sucked the air from the kitchen. Murdock stared at him, listening, yes, but barely there. This was bad, but Face had a quick solution. He grabbed the other man's arm and hauled him to his feet; plucked the book from his hands, making a mental note to have B.A. hide the thing (because, "Inferno" + Murdock = no sleep for anyone tonight), and kissed those half parted lips firmly. 

One week was way too long to go without this, Face thought with fierce joy. Murdock's response took a moment in coming, but was all the more enthusiastic for the delay. Hot, eager mouth, and strong hands, gripping and sliding… Face pulled back to see the light starting to shine again in those fascinating eyes; that's what he always loved to see. He grinned, his own beautiful eyes gleaming with mischief. "I have something much more important for you to do right now than think about food." 

"Yeah?" Murdock breathed, fingers sneaking under his loose t-shirt. "Something to do, or someone?" 

"Maybe both," he leered agreeably, "but, you have to face a test first." 

"Test?" Nimble fingers were climbing up to his nipples, now; better speak quickly, before he just threw Murdock on the sofa and ended this game. 

"Not just a test; a mission, even!" Face clutched at those wandering hands and smiled to himself. It was so good to see his friend returning back to the land of the living. He knew that Murdock was only following his lead, giving Face what he thought Face wanted. (Trusting him to find the way home.) Sex would be the easy answer right now, with Murdock both desperate and submissive, but it wouldn't work the cure Face needed. What they both needed. So, he brought one strong hand to his mouth, licked a teasing stripe across the palm, and watched his lover's eyes flash with want. 'Later' he promised himself. "A contest that will challenge your stamina and problem solving skills. The honor of the US Army is in your hands!" 

Oh, that got Murdock's full attention. Abruptly, he straightened and saluted briskly. "I will give my all for God and Country! Rangers lead the way!" 

Face saluted back without delay, and then grinned, leaning his weight back on his far foot. Turning his body ever so slightly. Getting ready. "Yes, sir!" he agreed, "but, I think this time I'll be leading the way." At Murdock's look, one part confusion, one part determination, Face took a small step back and announced the terms clearly and deliberately. "The last one to the ocean has to wear a Black Forest shirt for a full day."

And, then he was gone.

He only made it down two stairs before he was followed by an outraged shout and pounding feet. Down the last four steps, leaping and skidding, grabbed the rail to turn the corner and he nearly fell in shock at the exuberant wolf howl that echoed back from the vaulted ceiling. Hairs raising on his neck, still running, he took a half-second to turn and see Murdock *jump* from the top of the stairs, falling through empty space, twisting his body, to land hard by the front door, rolling to his feet.

"Jesus!" Face gasped, laughing wildly, adrenaline and joy firing his blood, he raced ahead. Made the door to the lower level a few bare steps ahead, and Murdock may have uncanny speed, but Face had unapologetic guile. He flew through the door and slammed it shut behind him, locking it fast. Another frustrated shout, this time containing a word, "FACEMAN!" and a fist to the door, before swift feet pounded back away. Murdock wasn't going to waste time kicking his way through; the basement exit was the quickest way to the beach but it wasn't the only way. Face cackled madly, jumping down the last level, rounding the corner into the "game room", hip-checked the foosball table (that's gonna leave a bruise) and yanked open the sliding glass door. 

Didn't bother to close it behind him (no reason to), and outside now. Around the quiet swimming pool, past the beast of a hot tub, and onto the deck to fly past the startled colonel. Face had one glimpse of Hannibal's expression, ('what the..?'), cigar forgotten, as he raced toward the walkway leading to the beach. "Hi-bye!" he shouted, still laughing. He hit the sand, heavy and lifeless between his bare toes, and ran, full out now in the open stretch ahead, the endless ocean beckoning with it's iron hard waves. 

"WA-WOO-WOOHOO!!" 

Murdock's Rebel Yell shattered the November silence, leaping up to the indifferent sky. A flock of gulls on one dune, dozing against the chill, leapt into the air in shock, screaming back their own defiance. The Yell sounded again, pushing Face those last few crucial feet toward the water. He skidded to a halt, his toes stopping on their own, where the sand became darker, colder, sodden with seawater. Panting, he whirled in triumph, to see Murdock running like a fucking greyhound across the empty beach. "HA!" His own Yell, now, and damn it felt good! "You are a Black Forest bitch!" He expected the pilot to slow and admit defeat with grumbling grace. 

Or not.

"No way, Faceman! I'm gonna beat your fine ass!" Even shouted at full speed, Murdock's voice was filled with glee. And, Face had a bare moment to brace himself, as Murdock came *at* him, fully expecting to be tackled to the ground, but… 

Suddenly the pilot flew past, yelling, "You ain't in the water yet!" 

Face gasped. Surely…. no, really…. "Wait! I said *to* the ocean! Not…!"

Too late.

Another wild, joyous howl and Murdock was out in the surf, jumping ahead with ridiculous, exaggerated steps, before throwing himself into the next grasping wave. Head first. Face could only gape at this demonstration of true insanity. The air temperature was about 50 degrees (without the sea breeze) on this dull day. So, the water must be….

"COLD!" Murdock rose, flailing and whooping. "GOLLY DAY!!" He stared at Face in shock, personally affronted by the November water. "Golly day!!" Regressing in that moment to the strongest exclamation allowed from his childhood, and Face abruptly lost it. He laughed, *hard*, hands-on-the-knees hard, trying to catch his breath and not really caring if he did. He could feel the last of this horrible week (and month, really, ever since that first disapproving sneer) draining from his mind and body, to sink into the welcoming sand. Cleansing him. And, he made a private vow right then, watching through watering eyes while his friend shook his head, doglike, to clear the seawater from his face, to never allow the opinion of selfish idiots to interfere with the team dynamics again. The A-Team should never show less than everything they were; loud, reckless, and Totally Awesome. (And Hot. Mustn't forget that!) They hadn't eluded capture this long just to lock themselves in a cage of sedate propriety. Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness, baby. Sometimes the old songs still sounded the best. 

"I win!" Murdock crowed, to Face and the ocean and to whatever invisible audience was applauding his elaborate bow. He seemed to have come to terms with the temperature of the water, acclimating freakishly quickly just so he could revel in his triumph. Hmmm… Face was almost willing to agree to the win (extra points, as usual, assigned for sheer nerve) but, nope. Too easy. 

"No way, man. I said *to* the ocean, not in it." He was glad he was finishing his original sentence now, when Murdock would actually pay attention. Not that it really mattered. 

"I'm more 'to' than you are!" came the expected response. It was so wonderfully familiar and easy, to lose themselves in these 8-year-old augments they both loved. 

"Are you going to stand out there in the Antarctic slush and snipe over semantics?" Face's hands crept to his hips, and Murdock's grin became wider and impossibly smug. 

"'Remember tonight, for it is the beginning of always!'" His voice rolled dramatically across the waves. 

The lieutenant watched his friend, hiding his amusement; Murdock may think he won the race, but Face had accomplished his goal, too. The pilot bounced in the surf, now; energized, shining and happy. 

Perfect.

"Hmm… I can't argue with obscure quotes from dead geniuses. I guess you win, buddy." Face smiled graciously. "Too bad I don't' have a Black Forest shirt. I guess I should have thought of that before making the bet, yeah?" Yeah, too bad. 

Murdock swayed lightly, as the waves came and went, undeterred. "Gonna get you one for Christmas," he cooed. "One of those nifty little polo shirts with the pen pocket in the sleeve. What color would you like, Faceman?" He tilted his head, his expression polite, smile sweet. "Lilac or seafoam? And, would you like the logo on the right side or the left?" 

Face had a sudden nightmare image of himself wearing that monstrosity, forced out in public and put on display. Hell, no. Time use his God given talents. Time to negotiate. "I don't think that will work for me right now." Or, ever. He gave Murdock his most charming smile. "Maybe we can come to another arrangement?" ( Like walking barefoot to Kirkuk.) And, how the hell could Murdock look so calm, hip deep in the unforgiving chill, jeans and t-shirt plastered to his skin? ("The book was better" his shirt proclaimed firmly, and knowing what he'd been reading upstairs, Face didn't want to consider 'better than what?!?') 

The pilot mused for a moment, running the options through his vast, unpredictable imagination, and tapped one finger against his chin. "Well, maybe I'd forget all about that nasty ol' shirt if'n you give me a good kiss." 

Oh, yeah, Face thought, cure complete. Let the real games begin! "Buddy, I can kiss you so good, you'll forget your own name." 

Murdock raised his eyebrows, teasing with a show of polite skepticism. "My name, huh? I think you should get out here and prove it, then." 

For a moment, Face gaped at him, all seduction forgotten. Surely he hadn't heard that right… But, the pilot showed no signs of moving to anywhere, well, sane. "Um, I kiss better on dry land, you know." (And, in temperatures a bit higher than 'meat locker'). He watched with something like despair as another wave rose and pushed, grumbling, at the interloper, before falling away again reluctantly. Oh, hell no. 

But, Murdock was shaking his head, eyes gleaming, smile almost deranged. He looked way too comfortable out there for a land based mammal. "My kiss, my conditions." He suddenly threw his wet arms wide in exuberant welcome. "Gotta come out here and make me see the light! Unless, of course, you're chicken." Yeah, and there it was; the clucking noises, that Face knew would follow him into the house tonight and possibly the van tomorrow if he didn't prove himself. Damn it. 

"We're both gonna catch pneumonia," he muttered, wading out into the cruel surf. At least, he'd left his new Italian loafers inside, but that was cold comfort (pun definitely intended!) as the water rose to his thighs. Oh, shit! He stopped, shuddering, and glad beyond measure that Murdock wasn't standing any deeper. Here, at least, the waves wouldn't threaten shrinkage to delicate flesh. 

Murdock giggled at his expression of cat-like distaste. "Come give me some sugar, sugar!" 

Face rolled his eyes and sighed. "Let's make this quick." He wanted to get back inside, to a hot bath and hot teammates. Mission accomplished out here, and all that. He grabbed his favorite pilot and gave him an absent press of the lips. An IOU kiss, if you will. He turned quickly, in a strategic retreat, back to seek dry clothes and civilization, when Murdock used the next wave against him. 

A jerk on his arm, a sneaky heel catching his shin, and Face plunged into the heart of a glacier. Icy water stole his breath and cracked every nerve in his body; shock and awe of the purest kind. He rose, gasping and horrified. 

"FUCK,FUCK,FUCK!!" 

He could barely hear the wild laughter next to him through the pounding of his own heart, trying desperately to push blood through outraged veins. 

"Oh, such language! Now, don't make me wash your mouth out with soap, Templeton!" The prim, high voice was eerily reminiscent of a dozen different nuns in his not too distant past. 

"You bastard!" he sputtered. God! His skin had been scraped raw, every nerve exposed. Murdock giggled again, his face swimming clear now to the lieutenant's watering eyes. Good. He would need a decent sight-line to exact suitable revenge. 

"I ain't no bastard, Faceman!" Murdock's voice was horribly cheerful. "Got the paperwork to prove it, too! Gramps made sure of that." 

"Fuck Gramps!" He staggered helplessly in his weakened state as the waves came and went; his body stabbed over and over with dull knives. Dull, COLD, knives, and all his batshit pilot could do was howl with delight at this small blasphemy. He laughed and laughed, until tears and seawater mingled their salt on his cheeks. 

"Oh, Gramps was a good, hard nosed Baptist," he gasped finally. "I don't think he'd roll over for someone even purty as you, Facey!" 

Face raised one purposely arrogant eyebrow, his body finally tightening into a very welcome numbness. "Everyone rolls over for me," he sniffed. He didn't really want to delve into Murdock's fucked-up family right now. (At least the man had a fucked-up family!) He really wanted to make Murdock howl again; in outrage or in raw pleasure, either way. He wasn't picky. He just wanted his friend helpless beneath him, writhing. Face started to reach for that irritating shirt, but was suddenly distracted by the look he was being given. Murdock's sweet face was fierce and warm, his eyes filled with soft wonder. "What?" Face couldn't help the irritation in voice; he was always slow and dull witted when cold. Another good reason to never take a job in Alaska. 

Murdock reach shyly for his extended hand, and held it gently for a moment before raising it to his own cheek and rubbing the knuckles across cold skin. "I…" he hesitated, swallowed, and tried again. "I love you. That's all. I didn't get a chance to tell you this last week, and I didn't want you to think I'd forgotten, because sometimes I get lost, you know, I read the signs and I don't want to abandon all hope, but it's hard sometimes when I see you guys, but you're on the dark side of the moon, where the sun never comes, and I'm at the wrong end of the telescope, wanting…" his breath caught, struggling with the avalanche of words pouring through his mind, trying to find the right ones. "I wanted to say it now, because I didn't want to hurt anyone saying it before, and I want to say it again later, because I didn't get a chance to six months ago, or two years ago, or-" 

"Murdock!" Face had wanted to let his friend finish; it was the least he could do, to listen, after a week of silence; but it hurt more than the scouring water or the hard edged wind to hear that desperate litany. So, he smiled at his best friend and lover, and gave him a promise instead. "I'm going to say it later, too. For the same reasons. But, I also don't want you to get lost in the dark, reading the wrong signs, so I'm gonna say it now, too, in a way you won't forget." He leaned forward, and cupped Murdock's face, stroking the pale skin and drawing him closer. They never had problems communicating with one another. From that first chaotic day they met ("Is that gas? Is that you?") they always knew what the other was thinking. Conversation was a pleasure, sure, in every language they knew between them, but sometimes only the language of the body would do. 

Face smiled right into Murdock's eyes and spoke clearly. "I love you, too." And, he kissed him. Rich and deep, cold lips on cold lips. Perfect and sweet. Face slid his hands up those strong arms, pressing close, dominating Murdock's mouth. The other man hummed happily and started to wrap his arms around Face's shoulders….

No, they never had any problems understanding each other. But, sometimes talking was over-rated; action could speak louder. So, when the next wave rose at them, Face hooked his foot around Murdock's leg, and dumped him back into the water.

Oh, yes, revenge was definitely best served up ICE cold.


	2. Chapter 2

B.A. Baracus was used to a certain amount of noise in his life. He'd grown up in the heart of Chicago, after all, in a tiny apartment stuffed full with family and friends and whatever latest lost soul Momma had brought in for a hot meal. (Clara Baracus taught her children, among many other things, that charity definitely begins at home.) He'd gone on from that warm home and crowded neighborhood to the even more claustrophobic conditions at Basic. Privacy, he knew, was a luxury that had to be earned, and savored when found. But, even in his rare moments alone, there had always been man-made sounds. Cars rumbling by, voices raised in argument or laughter, aircraft and machines of all sorts filling the air with dependable noise. It was natural and comforting to constantly be surrounded with the mess of humanity. 

And, that's why this empty island was seriously freaking him the hell out. 

Oh, it wasn't totally deserted; they'd encountered people at the pizza place and the gas station. One or two. But, this street filled with giant houses was…. he tilted his head, listening. Yup. Nothing, except a lone bird that squawked once, tentatively, then fell immediately into an apologetic silence. B.A. could hear the ocean, of course, but on this side of the protecting dune, and under the carport, the sound of the tide had been reduced to a thoughtful murmur. It was like some post-apocalyptic wasteland, impersonating a summer resort. He half expected a tumbleweed to blow past. And, what was it about these silent, lonely places that made his imagination run rampant? No, Mad Max, or even the Terminator himself, wasn't going to suddenly appear and demand his help in saving the world. This was just a cold (almost) winter day on a tourist-driven island. 

He turned back, decisively, to the opened hood and exposed engine of his Baby. He had work to do, and he wasn't about to let the mournful breeze rustling the tall grass by the driveway, or the blank, staring windows of the empty houses send him whimpering back inside like a little girl. The team had come here for a reason, after all; not just to hide from the military or police, but to find a little freedom and relief from the constant attention and scrutiny of the last week. Tiptoeing around all those (cute) kids, and the (oblivious) client, and even each other. They all needed the (echoing) space and the (eerie) quiet to… 

Another bird sounded, harshly, as though scolding the first for it's thoughtlessness. Okay. If the island wouldn't give him something to listen to, it was time to finish up, go find one (or all) of his teammates, and make a little noise of his own.

And, speak of the devil. Or, a Fool. 

The front door banged open above him and slammed shut almost immediately, shattering the stifling stillness, his desire for excitement suddenly given life. Familiar sneakers clattered down the front stairs, starting a strange echo effect, apparently, as the back sliding door flew back so violently B.A. was surprised the glass didn't shatter. Bare feet slapped quickly across the deck behind him, just as Murdock rounded the corner into the carport, from the front, grinning, eyes wild. "Tally ho, Bosco! The game's afoot!" 

Before B.A. could even begin to come up with a suitable insult in reply, the Fool was gone, back toward the dune and the beach beyond. B.A.'s hands tightened reflexively, prepared to use his wrench as an impromptu weapon, as some weird Indian war cry filled the neighborhood. 

Damn nice. 

Not quite as adrenaline pumping as an AK-47, but it would do. Take that, creepy ass birds, he thought with a private smile. You got no game. 

He wiped his hands on a clean rag, content now to wander out to the beach in his own time to see what those two fools were up to. Who needed TV? 

B.A. mounted the stairs to the lower deck (taking a moment to shut the glass door Face had left open; raised in a barn, the bunch of them), and spied Hannibal leaning on the rail, staring out at the show on the beach. He took a long moment to admire that strong, lean form, all manly grace in loose jeans and a plain blue t-shirt, bare foot and relaxed. (No jacket needed for either of the northern-born Rangers; Hannibal had taken in the raw, grey day when they unloaded van this afternoon and declared the weather a bit "nippy". B.A. grinned at the look of horror from his two warm-blooded teammates. Pansies.) 

It still amazed him, sometimes, that he was allowed, even encouraged, to touch such perfection. Not just that hard, beautiful body, but the sharp, commanding mind so generously given to him. All of them. He'd worried, those last few months, when it was still just the three of them, about the growing depth of his own feelings. It was just supposed to be about comfort and pleasure, between Face and Hannibal and himself. Proximity and convenience, that brought them together. Men have needs, and finding (or buying) sex was difficult enough without the added frustration of being on the run. So, they turned to one another. And, it was good; damn good. But, somewhere along the way, he'd started wanting more; intimacy, maybe, though he would never have expressed it like that. Relationship discussions were for Ophra. No, the situation would have remained casual, except… one night in a cheap motel, about two months ago, everything changed. 

It took that crazy-ass Fool, and his honest, overwhelming emotion, to show them that they didn't just want each other. They needed and desired each other; completed each other. The "L" word was used. And, everything got a whole lot better.

Now, B.A. was able to walk up to his colonel (carefully upwind of the inevitable cigar), and bump one strong shoulder companionably with his own, and be sure he wasn't' just accepted, but actually welcomed. Hannibal gave him a warm smile and bumped him back. 

"What's the good word, B.A.?" 

Bosco shook his head, happy to see the colonel looking so content, and was about to make some off-hand reply to the casual question, when he was distracted by the scene on the beach. 

"Are those two fools out in the water?" A stupid question, yeah, he could see them for himself, but the idea was so outrageous he wondered for a moment if he was hallucinating. Because, damn, that was a nice looking kiss, but the cold...

Hannibal turned his smile onto his other boys playing out in the ocean, just in time to see Face dump Murdock into the surf. The lieutenant's childish shout of triumph ("HA!") floated back to the watchers on the deck and startled a laugh out of B.A. "Oh, man! Crazy just got owned!" 

Hannibal chuckled with him. "You should have been here a minute ago. Face was the first to go down." 

B.A. laughed again, his handsome face alight. "I bet he squealed! Water's got to be like a fucking ice cube." 

Hannibal nodded absently, and they watched the commotion for a moment, the two out in the surf the only sign of life on a dim day, splashing and whooping. Wrestling the ocean or each other, who knew. Either way, the end result would be hypothermia, he thought. And then, Hannibal demonstrated, again, his freaky ability to read minds.

"It occurs to me," the colonel began, "that our two companions will feel the need to remove themselves, in some haste, perhaps, from these less than optimal conditions, after they become fully aware of the consequences of their chosen actions." 

Bosco glanced at his CO, mouth twitching as he hid his laughter. "You mean they gonna come crawling back to the house when they come to their fool senses." He deliberately slid his voice deeper into the ghetto accent he'd learned to use in self defense on the streets of his childhood; back when showing his startling intellect could earn him a beating from the neighborhood gangs. He had no need, now, to hide himself; not from his teammates, anyway. They knew each other well. But, he enjoyed the contrast between Hannibal's playfully lofty tone and his own blunt speech. He had little patience with Murdock's constant chatter and deliberate manipulation of words ("English is like a hot bowl of spicy spaghetti, Big Guy; you gotta twirl and twist and suck to get the maximum flavor experience!"), but B.A. secretly loved the rare moments when the great and powerful Hannibal Smith got… coy.

Now, the colonel swept his unoccupied hand grandly to indicate the stark and lonely beach stretching endlessly in each direction. "The absolute privacy suddenly afforded to us at this charming local, gives us a rarely found opportunity to demonstrate to our comrades the deep regard in which we hold them." 

B.A. found he couldn't hide his smile anymore. "We can make the fools scream loud as they like, and ain't no one gonna call the cops," he translated. 

Hannibal's eyes, reflecting the stormy sky above, glinted with wicked delight. He nodded solemnly. "Our fair brothers-in-arms will, I am sure, be most grateful for any small measure of comfort we could provide them." 

"You got something in mind, Boss?" 

Hannibal gestured toward the oversized hot tub taking up most of the deck near them. B.A. had checked the thing as a matter of course when they'd first arrived, making sure it was clean, operational, and at the correct temperature. He'd had a feeling they'd all be putting it to good use during their stay. Now, he saw a small tendril of steam escape the tight cover, teasing, as Hannibal tapped ash thoughtfully from the last nub of his cigar. Grey ash landed in the grey sand, color leaching from the world around them; night was coming on fast. 

"I have no doubt in my mind that both the Captain and the Lieutenant will be most delighted to express their gratitude in a physical manner pleasing to all parties." 

B.A. grinned widely as some of those "manners" flashed through his imagination. "I'll get some supplies." 

"And, I," Hannibal straightened grandly, "will enquire of our tempting paramours if they will consent to honor us with their presence." He tossed the cigar over the rail and fixed B.A. with a stern eye. "I leave in your always capable and proficient management the arrangement and execution of our field of play." 

They parted; Hannibal, with a self satisfied smirk, toward the deck stairs and B.A., shaking his head, back into the house. Boss was feeling pretty full of himself. Which usually meant trouble for someone; a pompous general, or a dull witted bad guy, usually. But, no, this looked like the good kind of trouble. Someone was gonna get it. Maybe all three of them, if they were lucky.

 

B.A. quickly gathered a few things they would need; four big towels, a tube of their favorite lube ("lube tube! tube lube! lube tube!" Murdock chanted in his head, damn it), and a six back of good beer bought at the gas station convenience store earlier. Getting in and out still took longer than he would have liked; he had to stop and stare at the train wreck in the kitchen. Stage one of a deep slide into the bad kind of crazy. Damn. No wonder Face was out there freezing his balls off; it was better than cleaning up broken glass and wrapping the Fool in bandages. 

He got back outside, blinking, as his eyes slowly adjusted to the gathering dark. Still, he wouldn't turn on the outdoor deck light; the warm light filtering through the windows would be enough. Who wanted to fuck under a spot light? 

B.A. put the supplies on a low table near the tub, and pulled off the cover. Steam rose in a soft cloud as cold, damp air touched the hot water. Nice. He folded the heavy thing and turned just in time to see three officers straggling up the deck stairs. And, what a pitiful sight two of them were. Face came up first, moving as fast as he could away from the evil water. He stumbled to a stop in front of B.A., half conscious, brain and body numb. White button down shirt plastered to his perfect chest, almost transparent, dark gold hair flattened down, lips almost as blue as his shocked eyes. 

B.A. reached for him, scolding instinctively. "You looking to kill yourself, there's easier ways." He unbuttoned the shirt, peeling it away from clammy skin, and started on the water logged and sagging jeans, before the lieutenant could dredge up a reply. 

"It seemed like a good idea at the time." 

B.A. snorted. Must be pretty bad if the Faceman, master of verbal judo, offered such a lame-ass excuse. Hannibal got to the fools just in time. He wrestled the wet denim down long legs, looking over to see Hannibal's progress with the other fool. 

"I c-c-c-can d-d-d-do it mys-s-s-self, C-c-c-c-olonel." Murdock looked even worse than Face. Thick, dark hair, sticking up one side and flattened against his cheek on the other, t-shirt and jeans dripping a salty puddle on the deck, skin corpse pale and shivering, sea-green eyes huge as he looked down at the man kneeling in front of him. Hannibal had decided to start with the soaked shoelaces, knotted from the ocean and almost impossible to untie. And, what the hell possessed him to go in with his shoes on? B.A. refused to ask; could be anything in that fool head, from wanting to walk to England, to fishing for 'sole'. The answer would just make him need to pound something. 

Hannibal smiled affectionately up at his pilot. The Fool's protest might have carried more weight if hadn't been stuttered out and barely coherent. If he'd been able to say it straight, the colonel would've backed off. They all knew he hated being coddled. And, B.A. knew that if had been Face or himself picking at his clothes, Murdock would have been batting at their hands. But, this was the Colonel, and so the Fool simply stood and twitched impatiently. Or, maybe he was shaking uncontrollably. Hard to tell in the dim light. 

Hannibal was finally able to pull off the sneakers, dumping a new puddle onto the wet deck, peeling off the socks, and rising easily, to reach for that fool t-shirt. Hannibal's silver blue eyes softened, seeing his pilot shaking like a puppy in the rain. "I know you can do it, Captain. I'm just looking for any excuse to touch you." 

It was good to see Murdock still had some blood left in him, B.A. thought, chuckling, as color washed up those pale cheeks. When it came to compliments (that didn't have to do with crazy flying), the Fool could (and did!) dish it out, but he couldn't take it. Especially, when the admiration came from Hannibal. Murdock was free and easy with Face and B.A., arguing or teasing or displaying exuberant affection. But, he sill held the colonel in too much awe to play with him like that. B.A. sympathized a little. Oh, his hero worship wore off a long time ago, but his respect for the man had only increased over the years. Death defying success was one thing, but the fierce loyalty Hannibal showed for them, against the Army or random assholes, was what kept them at his side. And, sometimes it was hard to leave the legend behind and just have his lover in bed. 

B.A. turned away from Murdock's nervous, hopeful smile, back to see Face drifting, hypnotized and naked, to the hot tub. He shook off a sudden stab of lust (that is one fine ass!), to quickly snap at the man, "Not too fast! You gonna give yourself a heart attack!" And, damn, he was starting to sound like Momma, but he remembered how that wet cold seeped into body and mind, dulling common sense. He'd learned a hard lesson the winter he was eight, walking on a dare across a frozen park fountain. Or, he thought it was frozen; he found out quick how wrong he was. Took two steps and fell right through, hearing his own yell of shock and the older boys' laughter. The water only came up to his thighs, no danger of drowning, but he'd had to walk the four blocks back home, wind whistling down the tunnels of the streets and alleys, freezing his pants to his legs and the Cold burned into his bones. By the time he'd gotten back, he'd almost been crying with the pain. Momma scolded him, loud and long ("You care what those big boys think of you?!? Now they think you a fool!"), and dropped him into a hot bath. Never would he forget how quickly he'd thawed; relief and horror in equal amounts. A lesson Momma intended he remember. 

Face slid himself onto the edge of the tub and plunged his feet into the luscious water. "Oh!" he whimpered, eyes fluttering shut in raw pleasure. B.A. smiled; Momma always said the simple joys were the best. He pressed the controls on the side of the tub to start the jets. Not too high to start; let the fools warm up easy. Murdock was finally striped down and scrambling for concealment behind the tub, not too comfortable with casual nudity, unlike Face. Still, B.A. got a pleasant eyeful of that pale, lean form as Hannibal spoke to their pilot. 

"Slowly," his voice making the word an order. 

Murdock carefully mimicked Face and pushed his feet in. Sighed. And, now the two naked men wore identical expressions; one part pain, two parts ecstasy. B.A. and Hannibal quickly pulled off their own clothes, impatient now, while admiring eyes watched them from the water. No way any of them were going to last long, this first round; it had been too long since they'd felt allowed to touch. B.A. sank into the warm caress of the water, and, yeah, that was damn good. The cold day was erased in an instant. Muscles melted and bones softened. He could see his own pleasure reflected in Hannibal's handsome face, as the colonel sat opposite him, and the other two decided they had waited long enough. 

In unspoken unison, Face and Murdock slid all the way in, Face stopping at his chest, beautiful features blooming into a slow smile, but Murdock kept going, all the way under. He gasped as he popped back up, body flushing with inhuman heat in one brutal instant. Then, pushed himself against the wall, going limp, and for a few quiet moments, they all relaxed. Just…. relaxed. Like they hardly ever got to do. 

Murdock broke the quiet first (of course), perking up now, to peer over the edge of the tub. "Towels! And, you brought us beer!" His sweet face beamed, delighted and mischievous. "You lookin' to spoil us?" 

B.A. was going to scoff (it was just beer, man), when Face distracted everyone by stretching his long body, sensuously. "Seduce us, more likely." He looked way too smug for a guy just pulled away from his own foolishness. 

Murdock pushed his wet hair around his head, from a flat mess to a spiky mess, expression softening with earnest affection. "You don't need to bring us flowers and candy, fellas. You already got us."


	3. Chapter 3

And, yeah, that signal was what B.A. had been waiting to hear. Hannibal, too, it seemed. The colonel's smile was wide and loving and *possessive*; a storm held in check as he surveyed his men. 

"Feeling better, boys?" 

"Oh, all kinds of good, sir!" Murdock chirped, and his toes rose to the surface for a quick peek, wiggling happily. He seemed oblivious to Hannibal's mood, but Face caught the glint in his colonel's eye. 

His smile was sly as he said, "I think I feel pretty good, too. But, you know, a good commander would want to find out for himself how we feel." 

Hannibal's eyes blazed at this open invitation. "Well, I wouldn't want to neglect my duties." 

It wasn't often they got a chance to play like this; Boss's blood was up and Face was going to take advantage. B.A. leaned against the wall, content for now to watch the show playing out in front of him. His own private porn. Boss stretched out long arms to the younger men on either side of him, sliding his big hands up strong arms and shoulders. "Hmm… you do feel pretty good. But, I should definitely investigate further." 

Face chuckled, basking in the attention, and turned agreeably, giving Hannibal as much access as he wanted, sliding his own teasing hand up a well muscled thigh. Murdock looked the same as he always did when Boss touched him like this; amazed and grateful, like he couldn't believe his own good luck. He turned toward his CO and traced shy fingers up Hannibal's scared chest, tangling in the damp fur that lightly covered warm skin. Hannibal rewarded him with an encouraging smile, and moved his his hands to massage both necks, watching the young men begin to melt into his touch. "Still good," he murmured. 

And, though B.A. couldn't see the colonel's hands, he did see the exact moment, reflected on those handsome faces, when Hannibal slipped up into thick hair and gripped. Hard. That perfect moment, when he pulled, his hold gentle but uncompromising, two heads slowly back, exposing vulnerable throats. The colonel and the corporal watched with delight, the two very different, but equally enticing reactions.

Face arched back easily, smiling as he allowed himself to be led, but twisting just a little, controlling the angle, to show the gleaming promise in his beautiful eyes. He loved the rare moments when Boss would just let himself go, and take what he wanted. Take what Face was always willing to give him. 

Murdock also tilted back, eyes fluttering closed, and a gasp whispering across his lips, as he helplessly rode the wave of arousal coursing through him. He relaxed into the colonel's dominant grip, opening himself, trusting. Only for them, B.A. knew, would the Fool let himself be so submissive. Submissive, sure, but not passive. Never passive.

Hannibal admired his two young lovers for a moment, enjoying the feel of wet hair caught between his fingers. "An embarrassment of riches," he murmured. He turned to BA, his smile lush and dangerous, pure Alpha male. "It all looks so good I don't know where to start." 

B.A. laughed softly, looking from the challenge shining in Face's darkening blue eyes, to the elegant line of Murdock's neck, rippling sweetly as he swallowed. "Looks like you got a full meal there, Boss. Dinner and dessert." 

Face laughed, clear and joyous, serene in the hold of a man intent on pounding him raw. "I dunno, B.A. Boss's been on a restricted diet, lately." His hand moved up Hannibal's long thigh and found it's happy goal; the very impressive length and thickness fit perfectly in his clasping fingers. He squeezed, possessive himself, now, reveling in Hannibal's soft gasp of pleasure. "I don't think he has that much of an appetite tonight," his voice taunted softly. Face always knew exactly how to drive all of them past the point of self control; drive them to exactly where he wanted them. 

B.A. saw Hannibal's eyes flash, and then the colonel abruptly turned, using the convenient handle of golden hair, to hold Face still for a violent kiss, his other hand releasing their pilot to grab his lieutenant's arm. Face's laugh of triumph was smothered in Hannibal's devouring mouth, as his free hand raised to grip and bring his lover closer. B.A. grinned; it was a fucking hot sight, two strong men kissing. A wordless battle for control, fighting to give each other the most pleasure. Hannibal had the advantage of first strike, but BA knew Face was only waiting for the right moment to turn the tables. He'd been on the receiving end of the lieutenant's schemes before; in bed and in the field. Face would only be dominated for as long as it suited his purpose.

B.A. glanced away from the lovers entwined, towards Murdock, expecting to share a smile. And, Crazy was smiling at the scene, but it was a pale and hesitant thing, that didn't reach his eyes. B.A.'s own smile faded; he'd seen that same look on their pilot a few times over the long years. Usually, when the Plan had gone to shit and they had to scramble to pick up the pieces Murdock was the first to wade into the mess, grinning, insane self-confidence shining like armor. But, sometimes, especially if one of them had been captured or seriously hurt, or sometimes for no reason B.A. could fathom, the pilot would get a look, like he was hearing the memory of pleading screams. Listening to ghosts. 

Lost. 

Ten years ago, before that fateful day in Mexico, and probably the reason Murdock had been stashed like a dirty secret in that nasty hospital, the captain and a few of his team mates had been shot down and captured. They were MIA for three weeks before intel came through and a rescue accomplished. B.A. knew the prisoners had been tortured, interrogated, and tortured some more. Just for fun. Starved. Raped. Some had been mutilated; most killed. Murdock and two others had finally been pulled from that hell, barely alive. Hannibal and Face knew the details of that horror from the official reports. The colonel had to know because he was the CO, and was responsible for the care, physical and emotional, of his men. The lieutenant read the reports because, well, Information was as necessary to the Faceman as sex or sunlight. B.A. knew enough; too much, maybe. One of those rescued killed himself a few months after. The other nameless Ranger was medically discharged. But, Murdock, stubborn bastard that he was, survived, to eventually become a thorn in Bosco's life. A beautiful, exuberant thorn, thank God; willing to take on the world, fearless… but, every once in a while, there would be that look. Oh, it didn't happen very often; Murdock was nuts, sure, but always dependable. Only a few times B.A. had seen those eyes fade, but, the last time was just last month.

That asshole client, suddenly looking at them like they were dog shit on his shoe. Why the hell should he care what the Team did on their off time? Not like they were fucking in front of him; just a couple of casual PDAs, to make the day a little brighter. They were getting the job done, was the important thing. But, no, it was suddenly some speech about how they *should* be doing in the asshole's little world. B.A. tuned out the "discussion" that followed; he'd heard enough racist assholes in his life. Change a few words here and there, and, well, he had this speech fucking memorized. Bigotry was bigotry, no matter what the flavor. No cure for stupid; just give the guy the finger and move on. 

Hannibal had been quietly furious; Face was also furious, only not so quiet. But, under all the ranting, B.A. knew the lieutenant blamed himself for forgetting and not holding back. (That Catholic guilt must be a real bitch.) Murdock, though…. after the first shock, humiliation set in. And, that look… Humiliation and the memory of humiliation, together. It made B.A. clench his fists, wanting to go back again and show that asshole some real Pity. Crazy was fucked up enough; he didn't need to see that sneer of contempt and hear someone talking at him about "loose morals". 

 

So, what was triggering the Look this time? No uptight assholes here, lecturing them on their "whorish ways". (And, who talked like that anymore? Puritans are fucking dead, man.) No injuries to heal; no worries over this last job, at all, really. Nothing to work through, except the cold hell of last week's enforced abstinence. That had been hard, admittedly. No sex, sure, but also no casual hugs or quick, secret kisses. Claustrophobic living conditions and a handful of innocent kids kept them all on a tight leash. B.A. had been ready to bust a seam, by the time they waved goodbye to the client, and he knew Face and Hannibal felt the same. They'd all gotten pretty spoiled, these last couple of months, having each other when ever and (almost) where ever they wanted. B.A. thought Murdock was feeling the loss of contact, too. But, as he stared at the Fool, trying to read his expression, a sudden, terrible realization almost blinded him with the obvious. 

B.A. had *thought* Murdock was eager for some lovin', but he didn't know for sure, because Crazy never said. He never, not once in the last two months, had asked for or initiated sex. Oh, he was passionate and eager (eager to please, a horrified little voice spoke up in his mind) when one of the others indicated interest, but he never asked for anything in bed. Never demanded, never objected. Only one complaint, slowly whispered, like a shameful confession of weakness (of memory) to Face, that he didn't like being fucked after coming. It was painful, he said. This admission came after a solid month of wild sex, and B.A. wondered, loudly and angrily, to the lieutenant later, why Murdock hadn't said so earlier. Face just gave him a strange, tight look, and a noncommittal noise. No help there. Faceman had his own secrets to keep. 

So, the problem here and now, had to be…. B.A. watched Murdock draw back from Hannibal and Face, shrinking in on himself, and staring at the lovers; the way they clutched at one another, hungry. Hannibal had moved on from the passionate, talented mouth, to the graceful neck, and Face arched for him, murmuring encouragements…. Murdock glanced quickly at B.A., feeling the big man's intent gaze, gave a quick nervous smile, and turned, hypnotized, back. But, B.A. had seen his face, his revealing eyes, and heard, again, what Crazy had said to him in that damn field, two months ago. 

'I thought you fellas didn't want me like that.' 

At the time, B.A. was thinking more about getting back to civilization than analyzing their "relationship". Crazyman had done a runner that night, after he saw the other three tangled up and sweaty, and BA had thought he'd gone out of fear or confusion. But, when he heard the wistful murmur, then, and saw the lost eyes now, he knew better. 

Hannibal had dropped his hold on his pilot pretty damn quickly, to turn and press Face under a burning kiss. The colonel hadn't meant anything by it, B.A. knew; Peck just inspired him. But, to Murdock, who was wildly confident in all things, except this, apparently, it might look like Face was preferred. Or, just….* better*, somehow. And, B.A. realized he'd have to do something about that idea, because the Fool wasn't going to say a damn word. In fact….

He saw Murdock glance at the door behind them, as if he was thinking about going back inside. Leaving them to each other, while he slunk away into the dark.

Oh, hell no.

B.A. knew what needed to be done; give the Fool something to think about. Show him he was desired. But, flowery words weren't B.A.'s thing; action is what he did best. So, he spied his goal, and quickly calculated the speed, angle, and force he'd need to reach it. Then, because it was damn stupid to grab at Crazy without warning (there was at least one base doctor that still wore the imprint of Murdock's teeth), B.A. spoke two words.

"Hey, Fool." 

Murdock turned to him, eyes drowning in emotion, mouth opening to reply or make his excuses, but B.A. never gave him the chance. The corporal plunged his hand into the hot pool and grasped one slender ankle, just visible past the bubbles, and *pulled*" And, it was perfect, the way Murdock squawked, slid off his seat, and dropped under water for the forth time that afternoon. He shot up again, almost immediately, flinging water in all directions and sputtering. Face and Hannibal tore themselves away from each other, distracted by the sudden commotion, laughing at B.A.'s odd form of foreplay. Bosco grinned, too, as Murdock stood, hands on hips, and glared in mock outrage. "You gotta twitch, Bosco? Fixin' ta get something' off your burly chest?" 

B.A. shook his head; sometimes it was best to not even try and translate. "I always knew you was all wet, Crazyman. Now I got proof." As distractions went, it was pretty simple, but, it was working. Oh, yeah; that Look hadn't gone, not yet, but it was fading fast under Murdock's rising excitement. Movement and challenge were what he needed. Face had done the right thing, earlier, when the two fools had chased each other out to the ocean; but B.A. wasn't stupid enough to use cold water to shake things up. Why make himself that uncomfortable when the Plan could work just as well while surrounded by heat, and with a cold beer in hand? Later, he would reward himself by cracking open a cold one, but right now… B.A. sprawled against the padded edge and gave Murdock his most irritating smirk. 

One well-chewed finger pointed at him warningly. "You're high and dry now, big guy, but payback can be one ugly mama llama, you know?" 

B.A.'s eyebrows flew up. "You think you can dunk me, Fool?" he snorted. "Like to see you try." 

Murdock gave him a wild grin and no time to brace himself, before the Fool launched himself across the pool, reaching….

But, really, it was no contest.

Murdock was Army strong, no doubt, but his greatest assets in any fight, in the air or on the ground, were unholy speed and reflexes, and rabid determination. The first two, however, worked better with space and distance to maneuver; in close quarters someone bigger and stronger had the advantage. And, against B.A. in a hot tub…

Bosco grinned infuriatingly, wrestling easily with the smaller man, letting the Fool wear himself out. Water sloshed over the sides and onto the deck, as Murdock gasped strange, Southern curses ("I'm a gonna beat you like a rented mule!") and laughter, trying desperately to push him down under. No way, man. He took a quick look across the tub to see that Face had taken advantage of Hannibal's distraction and flipped their positions. The lieutenant pushed the colonel against the wall with a demanding kiss of his own. Good deal. 

A sneaky pull on his elbow brought him back to the battle at hand. Damn, this was good. The quick slid of smooth muscles against his skin, the way Murdock twisted and squirmed, face shining with joy… Yeah, time to move this to bigger and better things. Hannibal wasn't the only one with his blood up. B.A. threw himself into the pretend fight now, grabbing and wrestling Crazy to where he wanted. Face to face, groin to groin, Murdock straddled Bosco's lap, legs spread wide across massive thighs. B.A. pushed forward to distract the other man with a deep kiss, while his hands captured strong wrists, and twisted Murdock's arms behind his back. That left B.A. without the use of his own hands, but that was okay for now. Murdock's mouth opened into the kiss, gasping at the sudden loss of balance and leverage, and B.A. sucked that tempting lower lip in to nip. Oh, yeah, they were both warming up nicely, now. Bosco drew back, to see the pilot glowing at him, flushed and eager. Ready for whatever the bigger man wanted.

But, B.A., remembering his revelation earlier, decided they would play this one a little differently. Crazy liked games, yeah? Well, B.A. was in the mood to indulge him.


	4. Chapter 4

"I gotcha now," he growled playfully, grasping those wrists a little more firmly, and spreading his legs to keep Murdock off balance. Oh, this was gonna be fun… "You my prisoner, boy, and you gonna do what I tell you." 

For a moment, something dark shadowed Murdock's face, but it disappeared quickly in the light of the Fool's sudden smile. "Be careful, big guy. I make one ornery mutt." His normally light drawl thickened slightly, as he bared his teeth, mock-vicious. "I gotta bad habit of slippin' my leash."

B.A. chuckled, enjoying the feel of having the other man under his control, even if only for a few minutes; even if it was only an illusion. Murdock could twist free whenever he wanted, but he chose to be prey and let B.A. have his way. Fucking hot, man. Better make this good for him.

"You ain't goin' anywhere, boy." He slowly pulled the smaller man toward him, and deliberately slid their chests together, loving the lush feel of skin on skin, before leaning in to whisper a promise. "When I'm through with you, you won't want to go anywhere." Then, he latched his mouth onto Murdock's sweet throat. 

The pilot's heartfelt groan reverberated against B.A. lips, as Murdock tilted back as well as he could, giving the corporal complete access to tender skin. B.A. took the invitation, and nipped, licked, kissed and sucked his way from one side to the other; and back up to give the same treatment to Murdock's hungry mouth. It was almost too easy, really. Crazy was incredibly sensitive; body and mind, open to any kind of stimulation. And, though he could swallow pain down, and pass it off with a joke and a shrug, pleasure reduced him to a quivering mess. 

Like now. B.A. drew back from his assault, to see the effect he was having. Oh, yeah; the Fool's lips were kiss-swollen and his eyes hazy with arousal. Nice. Time to make his demands. "You got some information I want, boy. You tell me what I want to hear, and maybe I let you go." 

He loved watching that normally quick mind trying to wrench away from need, back to the game they were playing. "You- you can't make me talk," he panted, hips moving restlessly as he searched for stimulation. "I'm a Secret Keeper! The best there is! You… OH!" 

B.A. smiled smugly around his mouthful of nipple. Good thing they had no neighbors on the beach; Crazy's shout of delight could'a woken the dead. BA was tempted to see how high he could make the Fool sing, but, that was a challenge for another time. Right now… this was perfect. The peaked nub in his mouth, so right for sucking and flicking and nibbling; the way Murdock writhed against him, tugging half-heartedly against Bosco's hold, only to emphasize their chosen roles in this game; the ecstatic cries, echoing back from the frowning sky. B.A. wrenched his mouth away from one nipple to the other, and back again, driving his lover higher with each pass of his tongue and teeth. He could do this all night, but…

He had a goal, here. It was too easy to forget himself in Murdock's searing passion. B.A. jerked back from the tempting flesh, breathing almost as hard as his victim, and waited until Crazy could focus again. "You ready to talk?" 

Murdock stared at him, as though hearing his voice from a great distance. He licked his lips in unconscious seduction, and forced a coherent sentence out of his lust addled brain. "First, tell… tell me what you want to know." 

B.A. grinned; he knew the Fool couldn't hold out for long. And, now he wanted one of his hands free, to be able to emphasize his point. Slowly, he brought both of Murdock's wrists together, still from behind, using his left hand to hold them together. His fingers only made a light bracelet; the gentle hold was only for show. Murdock's chest thrust toward him a little, as though silently begging for his touch. But, silence wasn't what B.A. wanted. 

He used his right hand, now, to stroke as much of that beautiful body as he could reach. Up one strong thigh and down the twitching back, watching Murdock's eyes close in bliss, to finally come to rest on one firm ass cheek. He squeezed and petted the muscle, feeling both possessive and possessed. Not many guys were allowed to put their hands right here; only three guys, specifically, right now. But, B.A. knew, in the dark place in his heart where the Alpha male lived, that Crazy liked his touch best of all. Oh, it wasn't said, but he knew; only he could make this man whimper in just that way. The way that made B.A. want to just end this game, and fuck him into ecstasy. 

B.A. breathed deep and stilled himself, until the wave of lust had ebbed a little, and until Murdock's eyes opened; wondering at him. Waiting. But, damn it, the Fool had waited long enough. B.A. leaned forward, to watch the effect of his next words on that expressive face. "You gonna tell me what you want." 

Confusion, now, as Murdock squinted at him, and echoed cautiously, "What I want? Um, I thought the agenda was pretty clear, big guy. Did I miss a memo, somewhere?" He squirmed, nervous under B.A.'s intense stare. "Tab A into slot B, right? I mean…" 

His voice mumbled off into a embarrassed distance, and BA forced himself to ask, "Is that what you want?" 

It was Murdock's turn to stare, mouth opening and closing soundlessly, as he fought some internal battle. And, B.A. suddenly realized the Fool knew exactly what he meant. What he wanted to hear. But, just to be sure, because there had already been too much miscommunication, B.A. spoke clearly. "Tell me what you want to happen here, and," he smirked, "use detail." He wasn't one much for dirty talk (there was at least one porn movie that had made him fucking nauseous), but this qualified as a special occasion. It was about time Crazy got a good say in what all of them did to each other; hell, maybe even made some demands of his own! And, if the night ended with the corporal on hands and knees, catching instead of pitching (NOT his favorite position, by a long shot), well, so be it. Never let it be said B.A. Baracas couldn't bend over and take it like a man. 

For a long moment, Murdock gaped at him like a landed fish, then that insane, hysterical giggle assaulted his ears. "Why, Bosco Baracus! I am shocked!" The Fool's voice raised up an octave and became arch, even as his accent thickened outrageously. "Shocked, I say! I believed you to be a gentleman, sir, and yet you suggest I should… should engage in coarse behavior!" Southern Belle or Texan gentry? And, it didn't really matter, because it was just a distraction; just another stalling tactic. Crazy must really be enjoying himself, to drag the game out so long. Well, B.A. still had a few more "interrogation techniques" he was looking forward to testing out. "I am not a lowbred vulgarian, sir!", and, despite the joking tone, B.A. could see by the rich blush on the Fool's cheeks that he was truly uncomfortable. Bosco wanted to shake his head; you'd think Face would be the repressed one of the group, being raised by nuns and all, but…

"Why, I would never be so immodest as to… as to…." Murdock's train of thought was grinding to a slow halt under the weight of B.A.'s obvious amusement. Crazy-man was spread out, naked and hard, on the lap of another naked man, one who intended to make him howl like a big dog, and the Fool was concerned about modesty? 

"You gonna tell me what you want me to do, and then I'm gonna do it." Nice, simple declaration of intent. But, maybe Murdock needed a little incentive; a quick demonstration of the pleasure just waiting on his word. B.A. had been stroking Crazy's ass cheek while they fenced, enjoying the feel of smooth skin and flexing muscle. It was a simple thing, as firm thighs opened wide for him, to slip his free hand into the dark cleft, and slowly stroke one nimble finger up, from balls to spine, massaging the puckered entrance as he passed.

The results were spectacular.

Murdock's entire body jerked, struck by a bolt of erotic energy, as a wavering cry of sheer need wrenched from his throat. His wrists flew out of B.A.'s light grasp, and the big man braced himself, because anything could happen when those hands came 'round; from jerking him off to breaking his nose. Anything at all. 

The aim was for his arms, however; strong fingers dug into his biceps, as though the Fool needed an anchor in his personal storm. B.A., with both his own hands free now, put them to quick work, looking to follow up his advantage. He caressed every hot spot on that beautiful body; spots he, Face, and Hannibal had taken the time to find and memorize in the last two months. Crazy was so incredibly responsive to every touch, showing his delight shamelessly, it was pure joy to take him to bed. Now, B.A. just had to help Murdock put that appreciation into words… and, yeah, he was trying to make Murdock *talk*. The irony was going to kill him.

Murdock was whimpering, helpless in his own arousal, but he forced his eyes open when B.A.'s voice rumbled through the cool air. "You like that." It wasn't really a question, not when the captain's body was twisting to catch every stroke of those large hands. "Yeah", B.A. breathed, gloating a little. "You like it when I touch you there." He didn't need to specify *where*; the deepening blush on Murdock's cheeks said plenty. "Now, tell me where else you want me to touch." 

"I…." 

B.A. watched as Murdock struggled, heated and wanting, but still so stubborn. "It wouldn't be… polite…. to dictate…. or demand….," he panted, finally. Bosco resisted the urge to roll his eyes; it was sex, man, not a damn tea party! But, God help him, his Mama's voice suddenly reminded him to 'use your manners, Scooter!' (And, he loved his Mama fiercely, but he didn't need to hear her in his head while he anticipated fucking his Captain). 

Still, she had a point. Maybe he'd been going about this the wrong way. The Fool could be one of the most annoying souls on Earth; an irritating Force to be reckoned with; but, he had a weirdly old-fashioned notion of courtesy. (And, the cleanest language B.A. had ever heard from a fellow soldier. Man wouldn't say shit if he had a mouth full of it.) Maybe this would be easier for him if… hmm… 

Okay.

B.A. stilled his hands, waiting until Murdock registered the loss of stimulation and opened his wide, dark eyes. Then, he smiled. "You still my prisoner, yeah?" He didn't wait for an answer, just moved his hands into the perfect position; gripping lush flesh and gently, slowly, opening that tight ass, exposing tender skin to the churning water. Putting that secret place on delicious display. A high, choked sound made it's way out of Murdock's chest, as his hands tightened even harder on B.A.'s arms and his eyes got huge. "You think you can make demands?" he teased, fingers moving in tantalizing swipes. Closer, but not on target. Not yet. "How 'bout you ask nice, instead, hmm?" B.A. grinned, white teeth flashing in his handsome face. "You can even say 'please'." Let the Fool take refuge in this game of theirs, if he needed to; B.A. didn't mind playing the bad guy. 

Murdock was trembling, now; B.A. could feel the movement even through the water jets. Caught in his desire. Trapped. He couldn't hold out much longer, thank God. B.A. felt like he had been hard for hours; every moment of the chastity of this last week felt in heated skin. Just a few more little pushes, and they could both have what they wanted. 

The Fool stared at him again with big, tragic eyes, and when his voice came it was barely a thread of sound. "I can't. B.A…. I… it wouldn't…." But, B.A.'s patience slipped; he really didn't want to hear about propriety again, not when his fingers could do… Murdock wailed again, hands spasming against dark, sleek skin, hips thrusting helplessly up toward his tormenter, and then down *hard*, seeking to impale himself on a thick finger. Bosco shifted his grip, wanting this game done, wanting to hear his lover beg for him. His left hand closed possessively around Murdock's cock, long and slender, stroking only lightly. His real goal was around back; the way Crazy kept pushing his ass onto B.A.'s greedy fingers was making his blood boil. Just another push….

"Sure you can," B.A. growled, keeping his touch soft. "You ask me for what you want." He moved his hands in rhythm, now; a slow slide across hardened, desperate flesh in the front, and sweet, gentle pats on the tight opening in the back. Driving them both higher. "You ask me nice, what to do to you. You ask me *pretty*. Then, I do it." He reluctantly lightened his hold on Murdock's cock; it sounded like the Fool was about to finish, and B.A. wasn't ready to concede defeat. 

 

Or, maybe he was, because, damn, if it didn't feel he was getting close himself. Murdock was just too tempting, and the sounds coming from the other side of the pool weren't helping… Carefully, as if he didn't trust them, he moved both his hands from overly sensitive skin to a safer place on the quivering thighs. Giving them both time to cool; to think. He expected a protest from the other man, maybe even some teasing over his own state of arousal, but there was nothing. In fact…. B.A. stared at his friend, seeing a man holding himself under tight control. Murdock's eyes were clamped shut, his mouth a harshly drawn line, tension shown in every line of his body. But, the only sound escaping from him was his harsh, uneven breathing. 

"Murdock?" No answer, not even a flutter of eyelashes. "Hey, man…" 

Nothing. 

B.A. blew out an impatient breath. So, the Fool decided that the silent treatment was what he was gonna use to get his way. Well… yeah, that would probably work, he admitted to himself. They could just call this one a tie and move on to bigger and better things; he could always try again some other time. After all, they would have plenty of opportunities for Murdock to take charge. B.A. shook his head slightly at his Crazyman, frustrated. 

"You the most stubborn, hardheaded, damn difficult…" He really expected a response to that; about pots calling kettles black, maybe, or a protest against redundancy, but there was still no sound from the smaller man. And, oh hell yeah, Murdock wasn't the only one who was stubborn, because B.A. had to squeeze those sleek thighs and demand, one last time, 

"You gonna say?" No, apparently not. In fact, he wasn't even going to twitch.

B.A. finally felt a trickle of concern at this unnatural stillness; maybe he had pushed things a little too far. After all, he'd been asking Murdock to break, probably, a life time of reserve (and ignore whatever strange shit his grandfather put him through; best not to think on that). But, if the Fool hadn't liked what they were playing, he could have said, or just backed off. No harm, no foul. Still… 

"Hey." 

He was about two seconds from grabbing and shaking the other man, when Murdock's tight mouth cracked open, one reluctant centimeter. 

"Your finger." The whisper was so faint, B.A. almost asked him to repeat himself. Instead, he smiled, as the first crack in the armor showed; a long time in coming, and all the sweeter for it. 

"My finger?" he echoed, lowering his voice, knowing the rich tone made the Fool melt. He slid his hand back around, right where they both wanted it, and teased two fingers into the crease. "What you want with my finger, hmm?" He had demanded detail, and he was determined to get it. Well, a little detail, at least. He knew exactly what Murdock wanted, what he loved, and B.A. was looking forward to giving it to him; feeling that lush heat and watching Crazy open for him. All Murdock had to do was ask. 

Murdock's head bowed slightly, his expression tightening even further, as B.A.'s hand slipped nearer to it's goal. For a moment his throat worked, words struggling past years of secrecy… 

"Inside," he grated finally, eyes creased shut, hiding himself. And, B.A. couldn't help his own wide, gloating smile at the frustration radiating from the smaller man. How many times had the Fool driven him to incoherent rage with endless teasing or ridiculous babbling? It was damn good to be on the giving end, for once; give the Fool a taste of what it's like. 

"Inside where, man?" he taunted softly. "In my ear? In your mouth?" His smile grew into a grin as Murdock seemed to choke on his outrage. Yeah, payback was a bitch. "Come on. You tell me where I should put my finger." He laughed a little, feeling almost tipsy. "And, don't forget to say 'please'." 

And, Murdock snapped.

Later, B.A. would make a low voiced confession to Hannibal, that he could almost hear the exact moment when Crazy's control gave under the pressure. A high-pitched, airless burst, that came from Murdock's chest, but sounded like it came from high overhead. An explosion of pent-up despair in a vacuum of rage. 

Murdock's head jerked up, eyes flying open, his entire face blazing. Raw, aching fury poured from some unimaginable place inside his body, as his teeth bared in animalistic intent. And, when he spoke, it was in a voice B.A. had never heard before, and would do almost anything to never hear again. 

"In my ASS," he hissed, low and deadly, fingernails digging into B.A.'s dark skin. "I want you to stick your FINGER up my ASSHOLE. Okay? Is that good for you? I am a COCK sucking little SLUT who likes taking it up the ASS. I am a stupid, cheap WHORE who needs a good REAMING. Use my ASS and throw me back because it is what I DESERVE. Is that what you want to hear? Huh? That you can FUCK my ASS and I will lick your COCK clean after? That I will THANK you for it? Is that good enough?!?" 

Despite the death-hold on his arms, B.A. recoiled back as far as the tub wall would allow. It was instinct, the need to get away from those sharp teeth and ugly, hate-filled words. He barely felt Murdock's nails tightening in his arms, drawing blood, as the pilot's fiery eyes bored into his own. And, B.A.'s shock was slowly heating to anger and confusion as Murdock stared at him intently, as if searching for something. Shit, was he really waiting for an answer? 

But, before B.A. could scrape together any response that didn't start with 'what the fuck?' and end with his fists having their say, Murdock's expression quickly dissolved. Consuming rage became horrified recognition, which sank into a sick realization of what had been said. His eyes closed, starting a terrible chain reaction of collapse; head bowing in defeat, shoulders hunching, spine curving down, down, as he folded in on himself. He pressed his face against the refuge in the angle of B.A.'s neck, a low, wounded moan rising from his chest, barely felt against the bigger man's skin. 

And, B.A., numb with realization, raised his arms, wrapping his lover tight against memory. Because that's what he had seen in Murdock's soul-revealing eyes, before they had closed; festering darkness suddenly wrenched into the light. Eyes filled with a wretched self-loathing and exhausted despair. The eyes of a man who had seen humanity at it's most foul and had been forced into such depravity, he believed he could never be clean again. 

Oh, shit.


	5. Chapter 5

B.A. held his pilot securely and waited; waited for the shaking body to still and waited for his own churning thoughts to calm. It was no use wondering how quickly the situation had gotten out of control; chaos seemed to be the Team's base state. All they could hope to do was ride this wave, and pick up the pieces after the storm had passed. Murdock was pressing against him, now, burrowing into B.A.'s strong body, as though if he just tried hard enough he could sink under the bigger man's skin. Hide inside all that warmth and safety until the darkness passed. He was disturbingly silent, but, minute movements, like the twitch of callused fingers on his back and the quiver of soft lips against his throat in a terrible parody of seduction, told B.A. that the other man was still conscious. Well, that was good, yeah? It had been years since any of them had had to deal with a full-grade "episode", and although B.A. would never admit it, he had always felt a little out of his depth when the wailing started. Give him an enemy he could see, and he'd be happy to show the bastard the very painful path to righteousness. But, the monsters that haunted Murdock couldn't be pounded into submission; they had to be talked around, and B.A. rarely had the patience to do more than point out the obvious. ('There's nothing there, Fool.') Such common sense had never worked in the past, and he doubted it would work now. Best to just comfort now, and ask questions later. 

 

The mouth against his skin was moving with purpose, now (and he tried not to think how close those unpredictable teeth lay to his jugular), forming words. Quiet words he had to strain to hear over the rumble of the water. And, God help him, once he caught the thread of Murdock's speech, he wished he could just close his ears. Negate the horror of sudden understanding, and block the sound of a soul, believing itself already damned, and thus beyond mortal restraints, whispering it's darkest secrets. Reaching, without hope, for absolution and understanding.

A stream of conscience direct from Hell.

"I didn't want it, B.A… I really didn't, no matter what they….. made me….. but, I was so tired…. so very tired and all I wanted to do was sleep…. sleep and see the circus…. but, I couldn't sleep because Bailey was screaming….. screaming and screaming and *screaming*…. begging them to…. stop…. so, finally I… offered… as a distraction, cause I knew they wanted…. they'd said…. " 

The low murmur vibrated against B.A.'s neck, almost tickling, but he barely noticed. He couldn't feel anything past the rising horror as he listened to a nightmare ten years gone. Gone, but not gone, because it was here, putrid and vast. And, B.A. was trapped now, realizing what had been done; how his friend had been tormented and used. 

"To amuse and confuse…. and, it worked! Bailey stopped screaming, and all was well…. for a while… because….. I did…. and, I thought it was just the once…. one showing, gentlemen, and standing room only!… but, they came back…. and told me I needed to say the magic words… to beg for it… or Bailey…. they were gonna… and, he was already…. so, I did…. again, and…. I don't know how many…."

B.A. squeezed his eyes shut. The broken sentences were drilling into his mind, assaulting his imagination with cruelly colored pictures. The bastards had toyed with their prisoners, playing them off one another. Three weeks, Murdock and his remaining teammates had waited for rescue. Three weeks of…

"I just wanted Bailey to be…. but, the doctors told me later it didn't matter, 'cause he'd been dead for days already… maybe a couple of weeks…. but, that can't be true…" Growing desperation in his voice, but still so quiet; emotion exhausted of force, and B.A. wasn't sure how much more he could take in. All that degradation and sacrifice for nothing… "It can't be true, 'cause I could still hear him screaming…" 

God.

"Murdock, man…" The first words out of his mouth since the pilot blew up, but he had nothing after that. He simply didn't know what to say; hell, what could he say that wouldn't sound patronizing or plain stupid? "Murdock…"

"How can he be dead if I still hear him screaming?" 

 

"Stop it." The protest was instinctive; a plea, even if it didn't sound like one. He had to stop that slow spiral down into torment, before they both went crazy. Because, he was suddenly sure if he listened closely enough, he would be able to hear the screaming, too. (But, would it be the unknown Bailey's pain that would echo in his mind, or…?) Murdock didn't protest the harsh order, and he didn't seem to expect a response, either; he was beyond looking for answers to his darkest questions. And, B.A. was deeply grateful for the abrupt silence; the over-whelming, white noise roar from his own guilty conscience was all he could handle right now. 

What in the hell had he been thinking, playing a "prisoner" game with this man?!? In what fucked-up way did that even begin to be a good idea? Who was the fool, now? And, sure, he hadn't known about the sick, emotional torture Murdock had endured as a POW, but even that was a piss poor excuse. He had gone out of his way not to know; none of his business, he had said to Face a few years back. What's done is done, and the bastards were all dead, now; no one left to Pity. True, sure, but the real reason he had closed his mind and ignored the hard facts, was simply because he hadn't *wanted* to know. Hadn't wanted to think about what Murdock had endured, alone, lost in anguish. How it might have effected him; changed him. It was so much easier to just dismiss most of the pilot's erratic behavior, simply label it under 'crazy', and privately tell himself he didn't need to worry because nothing like *that* would ever happen again. Hell, all of the Fool's problems would be solved, now that big, bad B.A. Baracus was here! 

Shit. 

He was a fucking coward, sticking his head in the sand, terrified of feeling helpless. And, here was the result of his willful ignorance. Exhausted, laying quiet and unresisting in his arms. Or, almost quiet. 

"I'm sorry," Murdock murmured. 

Wait, what the fuck? What could he possibly be sorry for? If anyone should be apologizing around here…. 

"I'm so sorry, B.A." He hitched in one deep breath, as though preparing himself for some grim, but necessary, duty. Calmer, now the tsunami had passed, and ready to give a (somewhat) rational explanation. "I tried…. I didn't want to listen to them, anymore… they laughed like broken clowns!… I could hear them in the stones… but, I wanted to listen to you, instead… you always tell me what I can hold… which way the sun rises… but, then you said…." His chest jerked, hands clutching as he remembered the words, from tonight and a thousand nights ago. "I heard them getting louder, then… closer… and Bailey needed me to…" He stopped himself with obvious effort, knowing B.A. didn't want to hear the complaints or opinions of ghosts, and spoke as clearly as he was able. "I'm sorry I showed you such a dirty mirror. I didn't mean to cut you with the shards. I can play nice now, if you still want…" 

'Me,' was the last, unspoken, word in that sentence. B.A. heard it clearly, and knew he needed to respond, but he didn't know which broken thought, from Murdock's ramble or in his own shocked mind, took priority. 'Of course, I do!' was the first in line, followed quickly by 'not like this!'. 'You're okay' would earn him a smack from his Momma for telling such a blatant lie. Nothing about this cluster fuck was okay…. And, damn it, he waited too long to say something, letting the silence grow thick. Murdock's nervous babble was shifting into high gear, changing directions without warning, giving him conversational whiplash…

"I can play the game," he insisted, as though B.A. had doubted him. "I know how… and it'll be good this time because I know it's you singing the song… I just wish I could have given you the clean lyrics… I know you hate being dirty… and, I don't want to make you… I was saving my best voice for…. well, you guys, I guess! Too bad I didn't know you back then. We could'a made the most beautiful four part harmony! I would have given you my first song… but, I let them take it…. even though Bailey was… " He trailed off, drifting into other memories, wondering. Suddenly, shockingly, his voice deepened, and became as harsh and unforgiving as the elder who had first spoken the words. 

"Come hither; I will shew unto thee the judgement of the great Whore that sitteth upon many waters: with whom the kings of the earth have committed fornication…" 

He giggled a little, then, a worn out, hopeless sound, his voice returning to normal. "That was one of Gramp's favorites; he had me on my knees purty often, looking for salvation. Little H.M. thought maybe he dropped it on the floor, somewhere. But, I found out darn quick… a Revelation! Don't want to sing a duet with the Harlot of Babylon! She's always sharp, or so I heard. Guess no one ever asked her opinion." 

B.A.'s arms tightened around his precious burden as the picture became terribly clear. He had been so wrong all these years; Murdock hadn't lost his way, hadn't misplaced anything. He had been robbed. Something he believed valuable had been taken from him by force, and he believed himself too weak, in body and soul, to have prevented the theft. But, in the hollow place left behind, he now carried the image of himself (filthy, worthless) forced on him by those bastards. And, B.A. had no idea how fix this mess. 

As he usually did, in times of doubt or confusion, B.A. turned to Hannibal Smith for inspiration. They had all learned early on that they could rely on the older man to have shrewd solutions to the most formidable problems (or at least to have the outrageous self confidence to fake it, while sporting a cheerful smile); his wisdom was the perfect combination of military skill, kind-hearted insight, and a life time of learning. The colonel was the go-to guy; the man with the Plan. The colonel was… also busy, right now. Bosco almost had to smile, when he saw what his other mighty-fine teammates had been up to all this time. Faceman had finally gotten his way (of course), maneuvering the older man into the perfect position, and putting him on delicious display. 

Hannibal was sitting on the edge of the tub, silver hair caressed by the icy sea breeze, and his hard, lanky body outlined majestically against the dark sky. His knees were spread wide to accommodate his young lieutenant kneeling in the hot water and facing him, big hands combing gently through dark gold curls. B.A. couldn't see what Peck was doing but he could surely guess. Lips and fingers busy, teasing his lover with all his considerable skill, he was utterly content. B.A. could see the young man's expertise reflected on Hannibal's handsome, pleasure washed face. (And, there were two more questions B.A. never wanted answered; how did the Faceman get so damn good at giving head? And, why did he always look so *relieved* when he was on his knees?) But, despite the wonderful distraction he was enduring, Smith was too much of a colonel, too much of a *leader*, to ever let himself be wholly unaware of his men's condition; physical or emotional, didn't matter. Despite how quiet B.A. and Murdock had been during their dire confrontation, Bosco saw a worried crease appear between those silver-blue eyes. Anyone else seeing the way the pilot was draping himself over the bigger man would assume they were simply enjoying each other's warmth after a good fuck, but Hannibal knew better. 

The colonel looked a question at him, ready and willing to stop one lover to help the others. B.A. quickly, instinctively, shook his head; no, he had this one. No need to make the pilot feel any more humiliated than he already did, by raising a fuss with his beloved colonel. Also, no need to cause Face any more worry over his best friend, (and, also, no need to raise any well-buried memories for Peck; they'd listened to enough ghosts for one night). It had been hard enough convincing the lieutenant two months ago that Murdock wouldn't be in any way hurt by this unusual, four-sided relationship. The pilot had insisted, by turns exasperated and sympathetic, that he was perfectly up for a "bit of how's your father". And, then, with only a little coaxing, he had very enthusiastically demonstrated the meaning of the obscure phrase, much to his lover's delight. Fit for duty, definitely. Until now. 

 

Hannibal's sharp eyes squeezed shut suddenly, an involuntary rumble of raw pleasure rising from his chest, as Face did *something*; probably that criminal trick with his tongue, the one that always made B.A.'s toes curl. And, though his own interrupted arousal was sitting, demanding and heavy in his gut, Bosco wouldn't have traded places with either of the other men. Crazy was clinging to him like a damn koala on a tree, and he could feel scabs forming on his arms where desperate fingernails had dug in hard. Most importantly, though, Murdock was *here*. He hadn't run off to some gloomy hole to lick his wounds in private. He chose to stay and allow B.A. to help him through the darkness. The amount of trust given to him by this spirited, unbreakable man was humbling. It was also damn frustrating. 

B.A. rubbed warm circles on his pilot's back, trying to think of a way out of the mess he had made, feeling Murdock's appreciative response to the caress; a desolate sigh tickling across his skin and a soft nuzzle to his throat. He turned his head into his lover, holding the smaller man as close as he could, reassuring them both. Murdock's hair smelled like sea water and cinnamon, and suddenly Bosco was back in his Momma's kitchen, helping her clean up from making after-school cookies. He had been trying to explain some play-yard problem to her, worried, even then, that he hadn't made his point; that it sounded small and unimportant to a woman who held two jobs, attended almost every school event, and still found time to volunteer at the Church. But, Momma listened, like she always did, and then when B.A. had finally run out of words, she spoke. 

"Sometimes it's hard to see what needs doing. Sometimes ain't nothing clear. But, you remember, Scooter, if you work hard, and always do what you believe is right, then God will take care of the rest." 

 

B.A. was startled out of the memory of his Momma's wisdom by warm lips kissing a slow path up his neck, and a subdued murmur in his ear. "Humpty Dumpty decided not to jump. No omelets today! So, all systems are go. We can…" They were pressed so closely together, B.A. could feel the deep breath Murdock needed to speak plainly. "We can keep going, B.A., if you like. I'll be good now. I promise." 

"Shush, man." He ignored the the ache in his chest brought by those childlike words. "I ain't done with you, yet, but there ain't no hurry." He kept rubbing strong shoulders and back, as Murdock settled back into stillness, willing to wait for the bigger man to do… well, whatever he wanted. Whatever any of them wanted. Willing to give all of himself, whenever and however, and ask only kindness in return. No, sex wasn't the problem. It was a damn miracle the captain allowed anyone to even touch him, after all he'd been through, but he enjoyed himself just as much as they did. And, how was it he could love the act, but hate himself for it? Didn't make any sense at all; hell, it didn't even make Murdock sense.

What was the right thing to do? B.A. couldn't give back what had been stolen from his friend. No way to change the past. All he could hope to do was try and make Murdock understand he wasn't cheap or defiled, no matter what his Bible-thumping grandfather or those raping assholes had pounded into his mind. The Team didn't see him that way. And, wasn't Face more qualified to have that conversation? He and the Fool spoke the same language; understood each other on a level B.A. couldn't even begin to grasp. The lieutenant had been through some nasty shit of his own, in foster homes and on the street, and had come out the other side with his conman's smile shining bright for all the world to see. Sure, he felt the need to flirt with or fuck just about any woman he saw, proving to himself his own machismo. But, he didn't have any hangups about his self-image. At least, as far as B.A. knew. 

B.A. dragged himself away from his own disjointed, runaway thoughts, to focus on Peck, wondering what magic words the lieutenant would use to reach the pilot. But, he was distracted again by the incredible sight across the tub. Faceman was drawing Hannibal out, using every trick he knew to increase the colonel's arousal and take him to the very edge of sanity. A lesser man would have snapped by now, grabbing thick hair, pushing and demanding release. But, Hannibal was letting Face lead; letting him take all the time he wanted, while the colonel murmured endearments only heard in these intimate moments. Hannibal's touch was gentle, though shaking a little, as he watched his lieutenant, eyes glowing with joy and need. Need for the man in front of him, and for all his chosen lovers. B.A. had seen this performance many times before (and it never got old) but, something about that look right now caught his imagination…

One of Hannibal's hands left it's nest in carmel curls to stroke slowly up and down the younger man's strong arm. It was a gesture that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with affection and intimacy. Many people wouldn't believe a hard-bitten Ranger and Federal fugitive would even be capable of such gentleness, but it was *Hannibal* and it was *Face*, and suddenly B.A.'s little spark of intuition blazed into an outstanding idea. Damn, if Hannibal hadn't given him the answer, after all.

Before he could over-think it, and possibly talk himself out of it, B.A. gathered himself up, pilot and all, and slid around the side of the pool, one seat closer to the entwined lovers. Murdock twitched in surprise at the sudden movement, pressing his nose against Bosco's neck and hanging on desperately against potential rejection. 

"The updrafts are warm, and the downdrafts are cold, but it's the cross-wind that'll kill you," he informed B.A. in a querulous mutter. 

"Hush," B.A. growled as he eased into a comfortable spot. He noticed that even though Murdock had insisted he was fine now, the captain refused to raise his head and take in the new perspective. Well, that was an easy fix.

"I got something I want to show you, man. Look!" 

Oh, yeah, that fetched him out. They all knew the Fool was as curious as a room full of cats; even if he was on his death bed, gasping out his last, if someone said "hey, look there!", he'd find some way of prying open his eyes. Bosco felt long lashes brush against his shoulder as Murdock reluctantly opened up, and then craned his neck around to see. B.A., with his hands full was glad he didn't have to point in the right direction. He had made sure to position them for the best view of this mouth-watering vision; far enough back so not to intrude on the lovers, but close enough that nothing was left to the imagination. At least, his own imagination. 

Murdock lifted his head finally, to stare in unabashed awe, as though witnessing an erotic miracle. 

"Bosco," he whispered, voice filled with longing, "they're so beautiful!" He reached one shy hand towards Hannibal's knee, but drew it back quickly, unwilling to insinuate himself in this private moment, and sighed, as though seeing the perfect image of something he could never have. Something he didn't think he deserved. Well, screw that. 

"Yeah, they're good together." B.A. agreed, keeping his voice low. Despite his real purpose in moving over here, he couldn't help but pause to watch the excellent live action porn playing out in front of them. Hannibal had glanced at them when B.A. shifted into position, and had given them a quick, distracted smile, before turning his attention back where it belonged. Face, however, hadn't even opened his eyes as the water splashed against his body; the young lieutenant had sunk down into that warm, safe place deep within himself, where the only things that mattered were the thick flesh in his mouth and the loving hands in his hair. In these rare quiet moments, Templeton could give up all responsibility, set aside all his concerns, and just lose himself in this primal act of pleasure. His hand crept up Hannibal's thigh, searching blindly for connection, and the colonel met it without hesitation, twining their fingers, offering reassurance and strength. 

"'Heat cannot be separated from fire, or beauty from the Eternal,'" Murdock quoted in a fervent whisper. He couldn't tear his gaze away from the incredible image those two made; Face, cheeks flushed and lips swollen, absolutely gorgeous as he suddenly knelt further up to improve the angle and begin the upward journey to ecstasy. And, Hannibal, handsome face alight with love as he watched his cock disappear again and again into that eager mouth, a steady litany of devotion flowing from his lips. "My sweetheart" and "beautiful love" and other words almost too intimate to be heard. But, Hannibal would share his love with their audience, because they were also part of it, Bosco knew. 

And, that was the point.

B.A. took a deep, cleansing breath, dragging his attention back to Murdock; he was going to have to choose his words carefully, now. Maybe even say things neither of them wanted to hear. But, it would all be good if he could just make the Fool see… 

"They look real good," he murmured, and paused for a moment, before pushing in a darker direction, "'specially Faceman. He look like he real happy to have that dick in his mouth." Well, it was true; Face loved giving head, loved the precise skill it took and the control it gave him over his lovers. But, it took some hard-learned lessons to reach that level of expertise. He'd traveled places B.A. didn't want to think on. That he could open himself up, and make himself vulnerable again, was another miracle. 

"You think Faceman like cock so much, it make him… loose?" He'd thought about using a stronger, uglier word, there at the end, but just couldn't bring himself to do it. It was bad enough trying to keep his tone casual, just two guys jawing about a hot screw, while also thinking about all the shit Face had put up with, as a kid and in the years B.A. had known him. However, Murdock's reaction to the accusation was well worth Bosco's discomfort. 

The captain's body stiffened against him, becoming all hard angles and angry lines, as he growled, "Face ain't like that! He's…he's summer sunshine! And stealthy shurikens! And strawberry strudel!" 

B.A. had to grin in triumph at that sharp tone; Crazy wasn't so far gone he couldn't stick up for his best friend! And, even though B.A. had been keeping his voice low (didn't want Peck to hear Bosco speculating whether or not he was a whore), something of what Murdock had said finally penetrated the lieutenant's arousal. Face's eyes slid open, revealing lust-darkened depths, and he released the colonel's cock with a lingering suck. He gave the watchers a slow, lush smile, so angelic and sublime at that moment, B.A. felt his breath catch. 

"Love you too, buddy," he slurred, sounding drunk with pleasure. 

Hannibal made a small, desperate sound, the only indication of his impatient need so far, and Face immediately turned back to his lover, determined now to bring an end to the torment. The colonel stroked and petted every inch of that slick, beautiful body he could reach, as Face plunged down, deep-throating like he was born to it. It was an incredible sight, but B.A. ripped his eyes away, determined to follow up his advantage. 

"What d' you think the colonel sees when Face goes down on him like that, hmmm?" he whispered directly into one pricked ear. "You think he sees all the guys the el-tee's been with? All the shit he's done?" 

Murdock didn't turn his head; he was hypnotized, watching Hannibal slowly crumble under the force of his desire. So, B.A. had to strain to hear the yearning whisper. 

"Hannibal loves him." 

The corporal nodded briskly, "Yeah, he does." Almost there, now… "And Hannibal loves you, man. You think the colonel is gonna waste his time giving his love to someone who don't deserve it?" 

He wished Murdock would look at him; it was always easier for him to understand what was going on in that Fool head when he could see those eyes. But, Crazy couldn't stop staring at the vision next to them; not just looking but *seeing* in a way B.A. couldn't. Shadows and angles and layers of meaning; circles within circles. And, when B.A. glanced back that way he found himself caught, too. Oh, Hannibal was close, now. Mouth open, pulling in quick gasps of cold air, words lost in almost musical sounds of joy, eyes locked on his young lover who was making it all happen. God, they were fucking *hot* together. B.A. tried to remember what he'd been going to say next; something about…? Oh, yeah. 

"You think what they're doing is bad?" And, it could be. Murdock wasn't just looking out of a cage ten years old; he had to get past childhood teachings of fire and brimstone. Hell, B.A.'s neighborhood pastor back in the day sure wouldn't approve of what was happening here. But, Bosco had decided early on that God probably had bigger concerns than wondering who he was sexing, and as long as he treated his partners with respect, he'd still be able to face himself in the mirror the next day. 

"No." The whisper could barely be heard, now, "this is an uncorrupted garden." Murdock's quicksilver imagination knew where he was going with this; but, B.A. was tired of half spoken thoughts and hidden fears. He knew there was no way he could make a cure against decades old pain, but if he could just give Murdock a little something, even just peace of mind… He took another deep breath and spoke clearly. 

"If there ain't nothing wrong with them doing it, then there ain't nothing wrong with you wanting it."


	6. Chapter 6

For a long moment, B.A. waited for some response, good or bad. But, as the silence stretched out, and Murdock sat unmoving, he began to worry. Had he not explained himself well enough? Had he pushed too far or too fast? It was damn difficult, sometimes, to figure out the right thing to say. Especially to the Fool. He rarely got angry or took any kind of offense, but the wrong words might initiate an unexpected response; a sock puppet opera, maybe, or that invisible rodeo, complete with clowns. B.A. really didn't want to chase a naked Murdock down the beach, while the Fool shouted poetry in honor of all the elements in the Periodic Table… in Latin. (That had been a bad Thursday.) But, even that would be preferable to the nothing he was getting now; it made him think nervously of catatonia. And, the sweet, obscene sounds coming from Face and Hannibal were making his cock twitch in sympathy. Maybe, if he shook the Fool…

Suddenly, and before B.A. could do something he'd regret later, Murdock released his held breath in a long sigh, a sound that seemed to come all the way from his toes, and turned back to confront the bigger man head on. He was blocking the view from across the pool, but that was okay; no need for any other sight when Crazy was looking at him with those luminous eyes, filled with a solemn kind of wonder. He reached one strong hand to B.A.'s face, and tenderly stroked callused fingers down the bigger man's smooth cheek. 

"How'd you get so wise, Bosco?" 

B.A. shifted a little uncomfortably. From anyone else the question would have been rhetorical, or a casual tease; but Murdock sounded like he honestly wanted to know. "Just common sense, Fool. Which must be why you didn't think of it." He took safety in familiar insult; Crazy was shining at him now, like he just single-handedly took down the Taliban, and hero worship was something he didn't want or know how to handle. 

Murdock leaned forward to brush his lips on the same path as his fingers, before turning up to land an almost chaste kiss on full, warm lips. Then, he pulled back to look the other man in the eye and spoke quietly and firmly. "I love your hands, Bosco, and your fingers. I love the feel of them on me and… in me. Could you… " he swallowed nervously, but plunged ahead, "could you do… that for me? Please?" 

Oh, hell, yeah he could do that; but, for a moment, all B.A. could do was stare, feeling something like awe. He had just witnessed an amazing act of courage, and he didn't know whether he should give the Fool a triumphant hug, or just fuck him into next week. Maybe both later, but for right now, he would just give his lover what he'd asked for. 

"Yeah, man," he breathed. "Yeah. Come here."

Murdock's smile was like the sun rising after the darkest night, but B.A. only got one glimpse of it before the Fool dove back in for a deeper kiss. There was no hesitation now, no holding back for either of them. B.A. hand's moved quickly into position; one in twined in thick hair, holding Crazy still for his dominating kiss, and the other down to slide between taut, quivering muscle. He took a bare few seconds to massage the tight ring, giving wordless warning, before his own impatience drove him into the welcoming entrance. Murdock's muffled wail vibrated through B.A. mouth and chest, heating his blood to boiling, making him feel dangerous. God, he wanted to hear that sound again, wanted to fill this man's beautiful body the way Murdock filled his senses; to the snapping point, sometimes daily, but damn, if he didn't love a challenge! 

B.A. slid his hand off Murdock's head; he didn't need to hold the Fool against him, not when that hot mouth was latched onto his, hungry and eager. No, that hand had a more important job to do, right… Murdock's gasping cries deepened into a grateful groan as B.A. grasped his cock firmly, sliding and twisting just right. His whole body began to move in a slow, erotic wave; working up into a demanding fist, and thrusting down onto a tantalizing finger. And, B.A., wanting only to *claim* this man, *now*, pushed a second finger in, roughly, to join the first. Murdock's head wrenched back, his shocked whimper louder than any shout. Hot water had eased the way in, but the sudden burn still made the smaller man tremble. B.A. tried to slow his own breathing, watching Murdock's face twist; he needed to control himself, damn it, and not do anything stupid. The Fool had been hurt enough for one night. 

"You okay, Crazy?" 

"Yeah," Murdock panted, "yeah, don't stop! Just…" He shivered, his hands clenching and releasing on B.A.'s arms, in time to some rhythm only he could hear. And, shivered again, as B.A.'s own hands moved without thought. The corporal really wanted to give Murdock time to adjust, wanted to take this at a gentle pace, but it was so hard (*he* was so hard!). He could get lost, and he wanted to get lost, in the lush depths of this man. The silk covered cock filling his hand, the satin muscles gripping his fingers so possessively, and, God!, those velvet eyes opening now, to drink him in. And, *see* him, like no one ever had. How could he feel, all at once, utterly dominant and helplessly enthralled? He didn't know what showed on his face, but it made Murdock smile widely with sensuous joy, relaxing around his skillful fingers, and dip his head to lick and nibble along B.A.'s neck and jaw. "You gonna fuck me now, Bosco?" he murmured dreamily between kisses. And, B.A. didn't know which was hotter; that impish invitation, or the action he could now see across the pool. 

Hannibal had finished up while they'd been wrapped in each other, and now lounged back in steaming, bubbling water, sated and smiling. He was wearing his "full-tummy-tiger" look (as the Fool had named it); eyes heavy lidded, almost sleepy, but still something to watch carefully. Face had now taken his place up on the wall of the tub, sleek and gleaming, dark-eyed with arousal. And, why not? Hannibal was stroking one huge hand up and down the lieutenant's impossibly hard cock, while Face gripped the colonel's broad shoulder. The younger man's mouth was still flushed with heat from his earlier pleasure and he was, in that moment, almost too beautiful to be believed. Such shining perfection should have been impossible to overlook, but Hannibal wasn't watching him. In fact, both men were staring at B.A. and Murdock, voyeurs in their own turn. And, they must have liked what they saw, judging from the rich smile on each handsome face. 

"Looking good, there, big guy," Face said, when he saw B.A. focus on them, his throat thick with lust.

Murdock sat up at that familiar voice and turned, suddenly aware of their appreciative audience. He and Face locked eyes, engaged in one of their quick, silent conversations, and smiled in unison as they reached the same delicious conclusion. Face stilled Hannibal's hand in mid stroke (not without a regretful shudder) as Murdock turned back to B.A., looking determined. 

"You're gonna fuck me now, B.A." he said, and this time it wasn't a question. He wiggled impatiently, pulling back and away, and B.A. felt he'd fallen a few steps behind the action. 

"Hey, Fool, where…?" But, Murdock was already off his lap, half swimming, half pushing his way to where Face waited. The lieutenant immediately wrapped loving arms around his friend, kissing him thoroughly, before both men turned to look at B.A. expectantly. 

"Come on, B.A." Peck's challenging grin lit his gorgeous eyes, as he silently laughed at Bosco's confusion. "What are you waiting for?" 

Hannibal chuckled softly, and did something with his hand that made his lieutenant sputter and subside, chastised, for now. "Sounds like you have your orders, Corporal." 

What the hell?!? He had raging hard-on brought on by what felt like a full week of foreplay, he'd just spent the last ten minutes, or something like, talking Crazyman off the proverbial ledge, and now these two fools wanted to poke at him? Oh, no, he wasn't taking that kind of shit tonight. He was gonna tell them exactly where and how they could stick it, when, damn it, Murdock smiled at him. The sweet one, that always made his irritation and frustration seem pointless. Who really needed to argue over annoying teasing, ridiculous stunts or foolish flights of fancy, when everything important was right here? In his teammate's affection and warmth, a pair of shining eyes, and a honey-sweet voice. 

"I want you, Bosco. Please?" 

God, yes. 

Murdock had moved into a perfect position; hands and upper body braced against the lieutenant, hips tilted back and legs spread invitingly. B.A. could only guess at the reason for the change in location; maybe Murdock just needed the support of his best friend after being so wrung out emotionally. And, support was good. In fact, everything that got B.A. closer to his goal was good, now. Everything had become very primal, very clear. He barely registered Face's approving smile, or the way Hannibal slapped the container of lube into his hand. B.A. needed to get inside his Crazyman, now. That's all. Quickly, he slicked up his fingers and cock with shaking hands, dropped the tube absently into the water and pushed his fingers back into that welcoming heat. He knew Murdock would need some more stretching, knew he should slow down. But the way the Fool's eyes slid shut, the way he sighed with relief, the tight bud opening for the loving intruder, the way Murdock's head drooped down to suck and gnaw on Face's neck, the look of ecstasy on the lieutenant's exquisite face as Hannibal's hand worked him slowly… 

B.A. finally understood the allure of insanity. And, he couldn't wait one second longer. He pulled his fingers out, grasped narrow hips, nudged his way between strong thighs, and thrust in; one long push all the way, to bury himself in that tight perfection. Murdock's muffled wail against Face's throat made him pause, throbbing and almost delirious, counting in his head to thirty, to give the Fool time to adjust. But, before he could get past twenty-two, Murdock was pushing back, gasping and wanton. B.A. began to move, gently at first, then hard, like the Fool wanted, amazed at how perfectly they fit together. All of them. Because, from here he could lean forward and meet Face's open mouthed kisses and swallow his moans of desire. From here, Murdock could reach out and clamp one shaking hand on Hannibal's arm. And, from here, Hannibal could use his other hand to stroke B.A., up his thighs and ass and scratching down his back. All of them connected. Murdock's sweet body was moving with him, clenching around him, driving him deeper into need. The more he got, the more he wanted, and how wonderful was that?

It couldn't last. Nothing that good could. Bosco tilted his thrusts, searching for that perfect angle, and knew he found it when Murdock *growled* and sank his teeth into the lieutenant's graceful neck, feral and strangely gentle. So, Face was the first to break, wrenching his mouth away from B.A.'s to keen his triumph to the indifferent sky. His arms wrapped tighter around his friend, giving support or taking it, who knew? B.A pressed his lips and tongue against the Fool's straining back; he could feel his own orgasm barreling toward him, unstoppable now, and he was determined Murdock would finish with him. Now. 

He reached one hand around, the hand the Fool loved to feel, gripped that slender cock, and leaned up, past where Face rested on a strong shoulder, to whisper, "Come on, Crazy-sweet. Show me how good it feels." He stroked once, twice, listening to the desperate, wordless cries; just one more little push. "You know I love you."

Murdock came at those words, shattering around the bigger man, howling with joy. And, B.A. felt white hot fire shoot up his spine, pushed higher and further by his lover's clenching muscles. Pleasure and more than pleasure, shaking him to his core. He groaned his surrender, as Murdock's possessive body demanded everything he had, wringing him to the last. For an endless time, B.A. floated in bliss, warm and perfectly sated, every twitch savored. 

"Wow." That was Face, dreamy and content, but also sounding a little amused. B.A. reluctantly came back to the here and now, and jerked back, realizing he was laying almost full weight on Murdock's back. Who, in turn, was sprawled across the lieutenant's chest. Face's precarious seat on the edge of the tub couldn't begin to support all three of them like that, but B.A. didn't need to worry. Hannibal had risen at the crucial point, and now had his boys wrapped in a firm hug. Braced, and offering every kind of support. The colonel, seeing his embarrassed stare, gave him an affectionate smile. 

"Hmmm…" Murdock hummed sleepily, "I always knew you carried the team, Boss." Hannibal chuckled; he loved seeing his boys so happy, wrapped up in one another. 

"It's my privilege, captain, and my pleasure." He drew back slightly, letting them all untangle and sort themselves out, his smile turning playful. "I just hope B.A. hasn't worn you out for the night, H.M. I haven't had my dessert, yet." 

B.A. had withdrawn from the Fool gently, more gently than he sometimes did. Now that he could think again he began to worry, and he wondered if he should somehow warn Hannibal about what had happened. There was no way he had erased Murdock's bad memories; that could never be done. So, how would the colonel's desire look to the captain now that he had just been fucked? Like a gang bang, waiting to happen? He shouldn't have fucked him, shouldn't have forced the issue. Hell, no. But, selfish B.A. had an itch to scratch, and he took what he wanted, and how could the Fool ever trust him after that? 

Then, Murdock turned languidly, halting his spiral down into further self recrimination with one of the widest, sweetest smiles B.A. had ever seen. "Oh, I think I can find something sweet for you later, Bossman," he sighed happily. "But, first…" and he launched himself at B.A., wrapping the bigger man in a massive hug. "Thank you, Bosco," he murmured. "Thank you for being my light at the end of the tunnel and keeping me warm." 

B.A. felt a silly grin fighting it's way onto his face, but he warded it off with long practice. "We do for each other, man. You know that," he muttered, squeezing the Fool until he squeaked. 

"You okay, buddy?" Faceman suddenly realized that more than just sex had happened here. His smile was moving toward concern, as looked between the other men, but as far as B.A. was concerned, it was a done deal. They might have to sooth some nightmares tonight, but nothing the Team couldn't handle. No need to make any more of it, and no need to explain.

And, Murdock apparently felt the same, because he turned to his best friend, beamed sunnily, and said, "Bosco was just reminding me of the joys of common sense! And, speaking of which… we should really get in out of the rain!" 

What the hell? B.A. glanced from Hannibal's sharp, cautious eyes, to Face's open confusion, and felt a very familiar (and welcome) impatience. "Fool, it ain't raining!" 

Murdock smiled slowly, and raised one instructive finger…

And, the sky opened up, no warning shots fired, just a fucking deluge suddenly engulfing them. "Shit!!" Face shouted, plunging from his exposed position back into the safety of the hot tub. The downpour was as icy as only a November day could make it, shocking them out of their afterglow. Murdock started laughing wildly, and kept on laughing as they all scrambled out of the pool, scooped up the now useless towels, grabbed the beer, and raced back inside. He laughed and laughed, and if there were tears mingled in the rainwater on his cheeks, well, B.A. thought he was entitled. 

 

Later, B.A. made the biggest blaze he could in the under-used fireplace, warding off the biting cold, while the rain continued to pound at the windows. He was a little surprised when Face slid a book into the pile of old newspapers he was using as fire-starter. 

"Trust me," he whispered with a secret smile, when he saw B.A.'s questioning look. "Better here, than in Murdock's head." And, when B.A. saw the title, he shrugged and tossed it in. 

Seemed appropriate.


End file.
